


How Old Are You Again?

by PheadreofWynter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Drunk Hawke, Embarrassment, F/M, Hawke is Bad at Feelings, Inexperienced Hawke, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), Isabela blushes, Isabela is a Good Friend, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 15:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10493784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PheadreofWynter/pseuds/PheadreofWynter
Summary: Pretty sure this is early Act 2, it's that scene where Fenris asks if he's the only one that has your attention, and then what Hawke does afterward.**This was a twist on the Hawke storyline where she and the twins were much younger when the Blight hit, and she uses a magic charm her father left her to artificially make her look older.  Hawke was 15 when the Blight hit Lothering which puts her at 18 now.**Bioware owns the sandbox, I just make the castles.





	

Some nights the world seems to conspire against you. If Hawke had realized it was going to be one of those evenings, she would have safely stayed indoors. She left for Fenris’s mansion, planning on asking him about a job clearing out some ruffians on the Wounded Coast the next day. She hadn’t quite gotten around to the purpose of her visit when things began to go hideously awry. Fenris was giving her one of those looks which proclaimed he was paying exclusive, and intense, attention to her presence. It always made her feel a bit like she couldn’t get enough air, but somehow she kind of liked it anyway. 

Then her heart lurched to stop when he said, “You’re a beautiful woman Hawke, tell me, does no one else have your… attention?” 

Her mouth hit the ground some three stories below, and she felt the blush exploding under her skin. “I… uh…” she stuttered, trying to sort through the giddy rush at his compliment and the horrible embarrassment that he had apparently noticed her occasional clumsy attempts at flirting. 

“I am an escaped slave, and an elf, living in a borrowed mansion. Don’t any of those things bother you?” he pressed, staring at her face. At which point Hawke realized what was happening and she shot up from her chair like one electrocuted.

“Look, Fenris, ah, I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry… you don’t have to give me the gentle ‘I’m not interested’ speech I get it, don’t worry…. I mean, I tried to flirt a little but, I mean, I never would presume… I mean…” She was babbling and backing away towards the door.

He looked like he would take a step towards her and she threw her hands up in a defensive gesture to ward him away. “Hawke,” rumbled his deep voice, “I didn’t…”

“Mean to embarrass me, I know,” she assured him, blushing harder then ever. “It’s kind of you to try and let me down gently but you really don’t have to I promise. I mean, look at you…” and her voice turned a bit wistful as she gestured at him, “and look at me…” and now her voice trailed off with a hint of bitterness. Fenris was staring at her, bewildered. She mistook his confused silence for agreement. “Ok, well, good to see you, I… uh, have somewhere to be… so… bye!” and she spun and ran down the stairs with all the speed she could manage. He did not follow her, thank the Maker, as she ran out of his house and headed straight for Lowtown, and Varric.

**************************************

It was just after midnight when Hawke entered the Hanged Man with the velocity of a cannon ball. “Varric!!!!” she wailed when she smacked into a table and bowled over a couple of regulars. By the time she was disentangled Corff had wandered over and she slipped behind him to get to the bar, still bawling for the dwarf.

“Hey!” Corff yelled as she grabbed a bottle of expensive antivian brandy and a tin mug. Varric appeared at the top of the stairs in time to see Hawke vaulting up to slide sideways over the bar, with Corff in hot pursuit.

“What the hell Hawke?” Varric asked as she came barreling up the stairs toward him. 

“Oh good, you’re still up,” she said as she passed by him on the way to his suite. Once inside she slumped into a chair and began a vicious wrestling match with the cork.

“Varric, she can’t just…” Corff started, having reached the outer door at the same time as Varric.

“This is a Maker-be-Damned EMERGENCY!” Hawke shrieked at him as she finally got the bottle open, “I TOLD you that already!” She measured out two or three good shots worth and flung them back as the two men stared at her in surprise. While Hawke collapsed in a fit of coughing Varric turned to soothe the flustered bar tender. Soon Varric was also inside the suite with the door closed behind him. He eyed his friend like she might explode any minute and sidled his way toward his chair. Hawke was the most calm and collected person he had ever met. Hawke was also very likely the most dangerous person he had ever met. Her present level of distress was not doing a lot to slow down his galloping heart. Hawke refilled her cup and took another drink.

“Woah, woah there tiger,” Varric said and grabbed the bottle away from her, “how about the woman who usually barely finishes one ale takes a couple deep breaths before you poison yourself.”

“Oh Maker Varric, if only.” She said morosely, then perked up a little, “Hey, do you think that would work? Give that here!” she made a flailing reach for the bottle but he easily held it away.

“How about we skip the trip to Dark town and the lecture from Sparkles and you just tell me what happened?” 

Hawke groaned and slide down in her chair, laying her head on her arms. Isabella chose this moment to open the door to Varric’s suite with a bottle of her own in one hand. 

“Quite the scene Hawke,” she purred. “I just had to come up and see what was happening.”

“Oh Isabella it’s just aw…” Hawke tried to raise her head to look at her friend but the room suddenly tilted and swam and she barely saved herself from falling out of the chair. “Why is the wall over here?” she demanded, staring at the floor.

Isabella raised one eyebrow at Varric, who pointed to the brandy bottle with a quarter of it’s contents missing. “Impressive,” she said and slid into a chair next to Hawke. “I didn’t realize it was humanly possible to get drunk that fast. You guys have only been up here, like, what, ten minutes?”

“You know she barely drinks Rivaini. That stuff probably hit her like a two by four to the back of the head,” Varric got up with a sigh and went to get a basin. He figured there were better then 50/50 odds Hawke would throw everything back up later.

“Bella, do you remember that guy, you know, the poison guy?” Hawke asked, with a mild slurring, having gotten herself back upright. “Is he still here? I think I’m going to need him.” She added glumly.  
“Hawke, would you stop bouncing off the walls and just tell us what happened!?” Varric demanded, taking his seat again.

Hawke took a deep breath, “I went to see Fenris about the thing tomorrow and…. And…” her throat closed up.

“You had wild monkey sex!?” Isabella squealed, leaning forward with interest. Hawke’s face went so red Varric was afraid that she might have some kind of aneurism.

“NO!” She yelled. “Of course not! He doesn’t even…” and her face seemed to crumple in on itself. Hawke hunched up in a little ball on her chair and started to sob.

“Look what you did!” Varric yelled after he got over his shock.

“Me?! How is this my fault? What else would you have expected me to say with a set up like that??” Isabela spread her hands to prove her general harmless-ness. Varric stepped around the table to Hawke’s other side and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.

“There, there Hawke, stop that now, it can’t be all that bad,” he said.

Isabella looked like she was torn between in the impulse to run away from what she was sure was impending discussion of feelings of some sort and the urge to know the gossip. She had been watching the elf and the healer watching Hawke for what seemed like forever now and if something juicy had actually happened she’d never forgive herself if she lost this opportunity to hear about it. And something must have happened, because she’d never seen the unflappable Hawke in a state anything like this before. So, that leaving only one real option Isabella sighed and patted the other shoulder as Hawke began to wind down into sniffles.

When he felt she was calm enough Varric grabbed a hand towel and gave it to his friend so she could wipe her face. He poured her some more brandy but gave her a stern admonishment to sip and not gulp it this time. He reassumed his own chair and examined Hawke’s blotchy face as she gripped the tin mug with both hands. “Okay,” he said, “how about we try that again?”

Hawke sipped for courage. “We were just talking and suddenly he starts this whole, ‘heyyyy, so I realize you’ve been making pathetic attempts at flirting but I am so not interested and could you just stop?’ speech…”

“Broody did not say that,” Varric interjected.

“Well not like that, of course not, he was all polite and ‘you’re a beautiful woman’ and ‘I’m an elf’ and whatnot,” Hawke replied. Sipped the brandy while Varric and Isabella exhanged glances over her head.

“Um, honey, that doesn’t sound so much like a brush off speech to me,” Isabella ventured.

Hawke grimaced at the dregs in her cup, “ugh, you had to be there. I was sitting here, and he was sitting like there,” she said waving her arm at a space a few feet away. “And he was giving me that, ‘this is extremely serious’ stare he does, you know? And says I’m beautiful (always a bad sign) and he asks something about if he’s the only one with my attention and I realize he’s trying to find out delicately if there is someone he can redirect me to so he doesn’t have to worry so much about crushing my feelings….”

“Go on,” Varric said, horrified anew at the clumsy ineptitude of both Hawke and the men who fancied her.

“He proceeds to say he’s an ex slave and an elf and, something about his house I think, and he said it like they were somehow bad or they should have been sufficient protection from the puppy affections of random mage girls. I was just… you know… I mean, I know he’d never be interested! I don’t really mean to flirt with him at all! Things just pop out of my mouth before I can stop them sometimes!” She slunk downward in her chair, reaching for the bottle, “Oh Maker I wish I could go back to the Deep Roads about now.” Varric and Isabella stared at her, open mouthed. “I know right? It’s terrible.”

“Wow,” Varric coughed. He raised an eyebrow at his fellow rogue, “you wanna start?”

“Let’s see, there’s just so much material to cover here…. Let’s start with the ‘he’d never be interested,’ hmm? What makes you think Tall, Dark and Pointy wouldn’t love a go with you?” Isabella asked with genuine curiosity.

“Are you kidding me?” Hawke yelped, “he’s like….” she waved her hands about in an apparent lack of words.

“A chiseled master piece of smoldering angst?” Isabella offered. 

Hawke pointed at her in excitement, “Yes, yes! Exactly! And he hasn’t even slept with you and you’re the most vivaciously sexy woman I’ve ever seen.” She exclaimed, pounding the table for emphasis. Isabella was caught so off guard by the compliment she sat preening and lost the thread of what they were talking about.

“Oh now you’ve done it kid. She’s never gonna let you forget that. However, speaking as the only male in the room I must inform you that, regardless of Rivaini’s undeniable charms,” he tipped a nod at the blushing, (Maker’s flaming armpits the Pirate Queen was blushing) “not every man is attracted to the same things…”

“You mean probably he likes guys and I’ve been creeping him out,” Hawke said rubbing at her temples.

“Nope, not what I meant at all. I would bet you my future ownership of this very tavern that Broody definitely goes for girls. You are having a very off night Hawke. Usually you’re dead on about subtext and whatnot but, huh, maybe it’s the hard alcohol…. Hey, did you start drinking before you went to see Fenris?”

“No!”

“Right. So. He told you you were beautiful, and somehow out of that you get that he doesn’t have any interest?”

“Vaarrrriiiic! That’s the kind of things nice guys say right before they say something that is probably going to make you want to cry.”

“Nice guys?” Varric asked bewildered. He looked at Isabella, “she did say we’re talking about the homicidal tattooed porcupine right?”

“Exactly how many lovers have you had Hawke? Cause those boys gave you an education that was seriously lacking…..” Isabella mused.

“Well,” Hawke gulped another mouthful of the brandy and coughed, “there was this baker’s boy in Lothering… I’m pretty sure he was planning on kissing me again, but then the Blight happened. He’s probably dead now.”

Isabella choked midway through her own sip, “kiss you?” She opened her eyes wide and looked at Varric, “did you just hear that? Or am I nuts?”

Varric’s cheeks were pink. He was pretty sure they were crossing into territory he wasn’t sure he really wanted to be here for, but the whole night was like a surreal carnival of the bizarre and dysfunctional. Plus, the story teller in him just had to squeeze every last drop of random information Hawke was inclined to spill with the brandy loosening her lips. She was normally like her own private fortress, revealing little about everything that went on behind the scenes. “Uh, Hawke… are you saying what I think you’re saying?…”

“What? Oh, well, yeah I guess so,” she said, “I mean, I just never had time for that sort of… thing.”

“Never had time! Geez Hawke how the hell to you make it into your late twenties without a tumble?! That’s like the most the sad and pathetic thing I’ve heard since Merrill was here!”

“Am not pathetic! I’m busy!” Hawke’s head shot up to better display her indignance, “And I turned 18 two months ago as you well know!” She added with a huff.

“Ha ha sweet thing,” Isabella laughed, “you almost had me there. 18. Pfft.”

“What? Why are you… oh, you mean how I look…” Hawke started fiddling with something at her wrist, “dammit, it won’t…. Varric where’s your dagger?” she demanded.

“Not sure you and sharp objects will make such a great couple just now Hawke,” he rejoined. 

“Here then, cut right here,” she held out her wrist, displaying the leather cord of the bracelet she was wearing.

“Eh… Hawke, you wear this thing all the time, you said your Dad gave it to you… you might be real upset when you sober up if I cut it.” She made an exasperated noise and shook her wrist at him. “Fine, fine, but Rivaini is my witness that you made me do it.” He reached into his boot for a dagger and cut the little cord holding a charm at her wrist. The bracelet came off and hit the table with a quiet thunk. Hawke seemed to blur for a moment, and then when his vision cleared she looked…. Different. They stared. It was definitely the same Hawke but, her face seemed a little rounder, less finished. The slight crinkles at her eyes disappeared completely, and her skin smoother than before somehow. She looked… young. Ridiculously young.

“What the..?” he started.

“Dad gave that thing to me years and years ago… said I was an old soul and that I’d never get anyone to take me seriously till I got older so until I got the age for real he gave me a glamour. It was really just kind of a joke but then he died, and the twins were so little, and Mom… well, she’s not really the take charge type so I just started wearing it all the time.”

“Are you shitting me?” Varris asked, “you’re 18?”

“We’ve been following around a kid??” Isabella asked at the same time.

Hawke winced, “Heyyyy, I’m a legal adult now…”

“Andraste’s Flaming Knicker-weasals Hawke!” Hawke realized at this point that her friends seemed genuinely angry with her and she tried to stand up, thinking maybe she should go away and let them calm down for a bit. As she tried to rise the room swam crazily and she fell down next to her chair. Varric, despite his irritation, was interested in saving his carpet and got the basin under her just in time. Hawke was thoroughly, violently sick. When she was done she was trembling and white. They wiped her face and let her rinse her mouth. Cursing himself for being a softie Varric and Isabella helped Hawke into his bed where she was passed out cold in less than a minute. It was just as well really. One drunken evening had provided them both with more information about their illustrious leader than was likely to process before the sun came up in a few hours. After cleaning out the basin the two rogues returned to the table with their bottles to sit in close conversation interspersed between random bursts of stunned silence.


End file.
